I Am Full Of the Concentrated Ginger of Holy Terror

At lunch today, I was reading the last quarter of "Stories from the Black Hills" the book about Deadwood. It's written largely by David Milch, the show's creator. At times it's a little dry because Milch is dealing heavily with symbolism and reality, which somehow gets distilled to be reflected in the stories of the famous Western town and her residents. Sometimes, it reads like a college textbook.

Scattered througout are interviews with the cast. They speak eloquently about their characters and where they fit in the larger tapestry of the show. Sometimes they talk about how they got the part of how the part evolved. That stuff is usually interesting. (For example, did you know that W.Earl Brown, who played Dan Dority, was from a small town near Paducah, Ky?)

The book is also includes snippets from books about life in Deadwood and at times, actual clippings from very old articles from the Deadwood newspaper, The Black Hills Daily Times. It was one such snippet, in the chapter that discussed violence as a tool in the world of Deadwood, that caught my eye. I record it below...

I give fair warning for no one to disturb me. If they do I’ll crimson the streets of Deadwood with the blood of all the men you see. I am full of the concentrated ginger of holy terror and when I get mad empires totter and kings abdicate – Beware!
Oath, recounted in The Black Hills Daily Times.
February 13, 1880

Imagine, one hundred and twenty seven years ago, some hooplehead in Deadwood got so loaded on whiskey or gin, that he took to the street and shouted this out to someone or everyone. A warning of dire consequences to "disturbing" this man that involved empires and kinds. A lofty rage.
And someone else there, heard this warning, this oath and recorded it for print in the town paper. Where it was preserved, until a hundred years or more later, when some copy editor found it in the paper or some book and included it in the Deadwood book. I read it and record it here for you.

How crazy is that?
Angry words, eloquently expressed, preserved for over a hundred years. The original context and identity of the author are both lost to us. But his words survived him and everyone that he knew and every building that he could've visited. And every thought that he could've known.

It makes me think about my words. Have I ever said anything to eloquently that it was preserved somewhere against my knowledge and is passed on, to eventually outlive me? Are there stories about me floating around that I don't know about, passing from teller to teller, getting further and further away from me?

And if those stories or those words continue floating on, what form will they eventually take? Will there be a book, where I am quoted? Will a new slang arise from something that I said as a mistake? Will I appear as a character in someone's fictional re-counting of your life? My little cameo added as a colorful character in between the decadent sex scenes and your inevitable death from drug overdose?

Some guy yelled something, a century ago and it's echoing still today.
I find that impressive.

Be well,
Mr.B